


Voces Poetica

by AlphaStarr



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem Fates: Conquest Spoilers, Greek Myth Remix, Nohr | Conquest Route, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7140662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaStarr/pseuds/AlphaStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Leo shook his head, glanced off in the distance. Dry, acutely aware of the possibility in these times of war, "Immune to fire itself. The whole city could go down in flames, and these flowers would survive still."</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"They're... they're beautiful, milord," Flora breathed, gently leaning over to inhale the scent of a hollyhock. "Flowers that shall never burn."</em>
  </p>
</blockquote>Leo/Flora, Conquest timeline. Might have been a slow burn, were she not so quick to carry a torch. A retelling of the story between Echo and Narcissus.
            </blockquote>





	Voces Poetica

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aeternelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeternelle/gifts).



> or: "conquest counterpoint for [Aurora Polaris](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6735016) frantically written the week before fay's birthday." posted slightly early beacuse _love live says it's the right day._ you could call it... well, neither a prequel nor a sequel, really. a paraquel?   
>  additional appreciation [@doompumpkin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doompumpkin) for letting me bounce ideas, and for dealing with my ficbitching.
> 
> spoilers for conquest-- particularly hints of chapters 9, 13-14, and endgame, which is pretty much the whole game from beginning to middle to end. usage of "Kamui" in this fic is wholly and completely intentional, as opposed to "Corrin," the MU you'll see in some of my other fics.

Even the snow of an eternal winter was less bleak than the Northern Fortress.

It had been Flora's first impression of the place many years ago, when she and Felicia had been taken hostage, forced into servitude. In retrospect, perhaps, those hadn't been the ideal conditions in which to form a first impression, terrified witless of the hulking strangers who brought her to this strange fortress, dark and foreboding even from the view of the rickety wagon that had brought them there. But the matter stood, undeniable; even the sun at high noon, when its reach was greatest, could only begin to creep past the fortress walls-- its light snuffed out too soon by its own descent.

The skies were oft clouded over the Ice Tribe's territory, the earth too heavily snowed for plant life eight months of the year. But there was, at least, open air, and refreshing breezes, and too the sunlight, however rare, sunlight that glinted off the snow as if through a thousand minuscule diamonds. And when the spring came-- indeed, the spring, for the Ice Tribe never _quite_ had summer-- when the spring came, the hills would carpet themselves with an entirely new blanket of white, the delicate fields of snowdrops for which Flora herself had been named.

But in Nohr, _all parts_ of Nohr... most plants could not bear to grow in the blighted, toxic swamps, and the sun's scarce, unpredictable appearances made even maintaining crops a complete nightmare.

It had been foolish, she thought, to believe that she could grow a garden here. Tears budded in her eyes as she berated herself-- emotional, idealistic, _foolish_.

"I am sorry, Flora," Gunter patted her back gently, carefully wresting a fistful of soil from Flora's clenched hand. He pressed the dirt over the only thing to have sprouted-- a tiny emergence that had nursed some small hope of hers before it had died. "You may... you may bury it, if you wish."

Flora bit back her tears, covered up the blackened twig, "Y-yes, of course... I just don't _understand_. Even in the cold of the north, these always used to take to the soil. Thousands of them grow there. But here..."

"Nohr," Gunter sighed, gazing at the sky. He seemed lost in some memory of his for a moment before speaking again, "Nohr is a darker place than ever, nowadays. Your flowers are not the first to die on Nohrian soil... nor, I'm sorry to say, will they be the last. You have given your best efforts for today. There is nothing else you can do for this garden."

"I... of course, Sir Gunter," Flora looked at him, preparing to gird herself for the rest of her daily duties, but when he gave her an approving nod, nearly-paternal, she could not prevent a few tears from leaking down her face.

Fathers were the _last_ thing she wished to think about.

She and Felicia had permitted some small contact with their father, a favor Garon magnanimously gave Chief Kilma of the Ice Tribe... in exchange for his cooperation capturing rebels at Nohr's border. He had been aching to converse with them, Flora desperately hoped, or at the very least eager to assure himself of their safety. _Theirs_ , she hoped, and not merely Felicia's.

In the end, he had not been allowed to see them, nor send them a letter. Merely a small gift or two to remind them of their childhood home.

Felicia had received a dog, likely the offspring of one of their father's favored hunting hounds. He was small yet, nonthreatening-- Flora wondered, briefly, if the Nohrian guard that had delivered him knew that his breed grew to well over a hundred pounds. Kamui had been utterly delighted by the creature, and it adored Felicia, as all of Chief Kilma's hunting dogs did.

Flora had received a package of snowdrop seeds, and with them the unspoken offer that she grow them herself. It was not, she thought, an unreasonable assumption to make, that they would be capable of growing in this corner of Nohr... but still yet, she had failed in nurturing them, a gift which her father had _killed people_ in order to have delivered to her.

Just another way, she thought mournfully, she would be considered insufficient in his eyes.

"Flora, do stop crying," and, with a sweep of his tailcoats, Jakob made his way into the courtyard, beginning to set up a tea tray on the table therein. "Our liege Kamui will be here shortly for the, er, fortress book club. It ill befits a servant to appear in such disarray before meeting with royalty."

"You're doing that incorrectly," Gunter huffed, joints creaking as he stood from Flora's side. "Move the milk more towards the center; Felicia will be less likely to knock it over there."

"It hardly matters; she'll find a way to knock over this whole table before we're through," Jakob scowled, but shifted the carafe of milk regardless. "Flora, you plan on joining us... correct?"

"You're right, of course," and Flora, with a last sniffle, began to straighten herself, remove her gardening gloves. She rummaged through her pockets to find a handkerchief, but there were none-- she recalled that she'd expended her last clean ones earlier that day, wiping the remnants of Kamui's breakfast off of Felicia's uniform. It was, at the very least, fortunate that she had been merely _returning_ to the kitchens with the leftover scraps.

"Do you really not have a spare kerchief anywhere on your person?" Jakob frowned in disapproval. Still, even as he sighed, he held out one of his own to her, "Here, use this one. It would be a travesty if you appeared before out liege... like _that_."

"Mind your manners," Gunter tisked, giving Jakob a tap on the head. "A butler must be polite to everyone, and not just their liege... regardless of what _you_  believe."

Flora managed a weak smile in their direction, accepted the napkin. Using the reflective surface of the tea set, she scarcely managed to make herself presentable before Kamui arrived, escorted by Felicia and, quite strangely... the youngest prince.

By then, it had been months since Prince Leo of Nohr last graced the halls of the Northern Fortress, his heel-clicks echoing in the vacuous corridors. He'd been far too busy studying the lore referenced in the holy tome Brynhildr to visit every single day-- or so he'd told Kamui. Flora was fairly certain she was never meant to hear this information, but Prince Leo... like most royals, he had grown up among servants in the dozens. More apt than not, he hadn't even noticed her presence.

"Lord Leo, it is good to see you again," Gunter bowed at the waist, and Flora very quickly adjusted her stance to match his with a deep curtsy. "Our liege Kamui has expressed a desire to see you, as of late."

"Sir Gunter. I hadn't intended to go this long without a visit, either, but I wound up tracking a reference book all the way to Nestra," and the prince nodded deftly. Then, a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth, "Rest assured, I've already apologized to Kamui. Several times."

"Oh! That's perfect, because our book club book is about Nestra," Felicia beamed, practically pushing her copy into his face. "I'll look on with Lady Kamui, if you want to take that one to follow along."

Flora felt her heart sink in her chest, Felicia's excessive familiarity reflecting poorly on the entire fortress staff's professionalism. Gunter clicked quietly, once, and Jakob actually released a small sound of pain.

"I've... already read that," Leo cringed, pushing the book away and rubbing where it had made a crease on his cheek. "I suppose, then, you took my recommendation, Kamui?"

"Yes! Though," Kamui looked thoughtfully at the book's cover. "I never took you for a romantic, Leo."

"It's a romantic tragedy, and one of Nohr's great classics," Leo corrected. With a slight frown, "I was under the impression, in fact, that it was a warning _against_ romanticism."

"... oh," and Kamui seemed to deflate briefly. "That's... that's really sad. I... hadn't thought of it like that."

"It seems I've already upset you," Leo sighed. With a note of dry regret, "A new record, even for me."

"Perhaps," began Jakob, with a steely protectiveness in his eye. "It is best if you sit this one out."

"Perhaps," sighed the prince, turning on his heel. "Perhaps it is."

Flora's eye followed him, then, as he left. Considered again the contents of the book, the lovers who met their doom trying to elope to Nestra. The foolish death of a foolish woman, the foolish melancholy of her surviving husband. Her own foolish hope that this place, which had caged even its human inhabitants, could possibly nurture a flower’s growth, a hope which had been so cruelly nipped in the bud. There was no place for it-- not in Nestra, not in Nohr, and certainly not in a fortress that stifled all it held within. Emotional, idealistic, _foolish_.

Silently, she thanked him for managing to say out loud what she had been too afraid to say herself. She listened to his boots click against the cobblestone as he left the courtyard, the echoes lingering long after he'd left.

* * *

It wasn't until late, late at night that Flora found her way to the courtyard again, bearing with her a single dim oil lantern. Strictly speaking, she was full aware that her work was completed, that she ought to be asleep by now.

But all she could think of in the darkened caverns of the servants' quarters were tiny sprouts-- of flowers, of hope, of heels that echoed on stone floors-- no sooner budding than fading into charred black. Her fingers found the empty packet of seeds, that which had offered her comfort in so many nights past, but it did little to assuage her insecurities. In a fit of self-frustration, she tore the packet panel-from-panel, knowing that she would immediately regret doing so but needing the catharsis too badly to care.

She did, indeed, regret, but not for the reason she had predicted.

"What...?" her voice trailed off into a shocked whisper, and her heart sank down into her gut as she looked at the two sides of the seed packet.

 _Seceding from Nohr_ , one side said in her father's concise, crisp handwriting. _Escape. Bring Felicia._ The other side depicted a crude map, as if the blood of ice-dragons in her veins did not already tell her which direction was true North. It was horribly, horribly incorrect, upon closer inspection-- likely a decoy, then, in case it was discovered.

Her eyes prickled. Her throat tightened.

Oh, she thought vaguely. She supposed it would always come down to this, her duty to fight for her tribe taking precedent over all else. Even a gift, meant to be a token of affection, to assuage her homesickness... it was, beneath the surface, merely a summons to return and do her duty as the Ice Tribe's heiress. Injured, she tossed the paper into the smoldering hearth, watched it blacken and curl. She would not forget the information there, now that she had seen it.

(Felicia's gift, at the very least, was one of genuine affection. A bittersweet realization.)

Perhaps, thought Flora, rubbing at a misty eye, she would be less likely to disturb the others if she ventured to the courtyard. There, she could lay to rest once and for all the hope that this place couldn't possibly smother _all_ life, _all_ beauty. It had been right, she despaired, to believe that there was nowhere in Nohr bleaker than the Northern Fortress. If not even the hardiest blooms from her tribe's territory could survive there, what could? 

(And in that moment, Flora felt so horribly, horribly homesick, yearning for fresh air and snow that glittered like precious stones.)

The halls were lonely enough that Flora felt safe releasing a quiet sigh, certain she would not get caught. But then, a quiet hiss of an echo: " _Flora_."

Flora jumped in surprise, rapidly steeling herself into the calm, collected servant she was meant to be, too afraid to talk lest she be scolded for disturbing the masters. Her eyes scanned the premises, darting from wall to wall. But she saw no others in the hall, and so, as silently as she could, crept open the door into the courtyard, the creaking hinge seeming to echo endlessly in her anxiety.

And there, in the dim light of the full moon, stood Prince Leo. Tall, imposing. Stern. More like the eldest prince of Nohr than any of his other siblings, and somehow the most frightening to Flora, for though Prince Xander did carry a certain gravitas of personality, it was the younger prince who carried a piercing intelligence that always made it feel like he somehow _knew what you were thinking_. She found herself uncomfortably reminded of what he had said earlier that day, how he had spoken aloud her own thoughts-- a warning against romanticism, indeed, she chided herself. It was _foolish_ to think that any man possessed the ability to read another's thoughts.

His back was faced toward her, but even at this angle, she could tell he was holding the Brynhildr, that most-feared holy tome. Her heart filled with dread as she realized he was most likely practicing here, about to annihilate all that she'd sown into the ground with as little as a single spell, and she remained frozen in fear, lest she break his concentration and end up at the wrong end of the tome, too. She was acutely aware that Lord Leo could singlehandedly defeat the entire staff of the Northern Fortress if he so wished, even Sir Gunter.

But Leo's voice did not sound rough, nor threatening-- not as it did when he and Lord Xander would teach Lady Kamui to spar. It sounded like a song, resonating in the vacuous night in soft, tenorous chanting: " _Vivahlos, vivahlos meno non luzi, vivahlos, vivahlos flora. Vivahlos, vivahlos meno non luzi, vivahlos, vivahlos..._ "

Flora's breath caught in her throat as she watched dozens of blooms sprout from the ground, first tiny shoots of green, then buds as white as snow. Leo waved his arm, then, and dozens of blooms turned into hundreds, more than she had planted herself. Her hand rose to cover her agape mouth, just as surely as vines began to climb the courtyard walls, budding flowers of a deep, near-black purple.

Violets, then, crept near her feet, their tiny furls peeping up beneath a shroud of leaves. And roses in dark reds, and tall, towering lines of foxgloves, and fragrant narcissi with their vibrant, butter-yellow hearts. She gazed on in amazement as her own snowdrops, that which she had already mourned as dead, bloomed instead from the soil in a carpet of petite whites, their petals arcing towards the ground as if they, too, were shocked by that from which they had sprung.

" _Vivahlos, vivahlos meno non luzi, vivahlos, vivahlos flora,_ " Leo chanted, and jerked his arm upwards, raising a dogwood tree in the center of the garden, its pale-lavender flowers shedding petals that drifted to the ground like snow. He caught his breath for a second, then: " _Vivahlos, vivahlos meno non luzi, vivahlos, vivahlos flora._ "

 _Vivahlos, vivahlos, meno non luzi,_ Flora's heart echoed silently. The resonance of his voice seemed to call out to her, to command her-- _vivahlos, vivahlos flora_. Live, Flora, live.

Her eyes, wide, so wide, watched the youngest prince stand there in the gardens, completely still, his hand frozen midair, his chant still repeating in her mind. Live, Flora, live. But her heart was gone, swept away like the dogwood petals drifting to the ground, their pale brilliance in lieu of moonbeams, of snow. Her heart was gone, and Prince Leo held it within his hand as surely as he held the Brynhildr, that most-feared holy tome he had chosen to use for beauty instead of war.

Emotional, idealistic-- she knew her reaction had been such, indeed. Foolish. But her eyes clung to the white of the petals in Prince Leo's hair, the austere grace of a hundred tiny snowdrop blooms in a garden that had merely been waiting for the right person to awaken it. Beautiful, she thought, absorbing every detail of that moment, committing it to memory. Romantic.

She had to remind herself to breathe, then. Live, Flora, live.

Leo lowered his hand, then, wiped a mote of sweat from his brow. He turned, narrowing his eyes directly at where Flora hid, once more entirely of piercing brilliance, "You there. You're a servant here, right?"

Flora froze, steeled herself, assembling her face into a mask made from a thousand rules of etiquette. She stepped out deftly, resisting the urge to curl over herself in an abashed slouch, "Yes, I am a servant here. May I... may I assist you, milord?"

"Could you," Leo began, seating himself atop Kamui's tea table with no small exhaustion. He corrected himself, "The garden will need to be watered soon. I would appreciate it if you could draw a few buckets of water in preparation."

"Yes, milord," replied Flora immediately, heels tapping quietly on the cobblestone path-- the cracks between them, too, filled with lichens and mosses that had lain inert for what must have been years.

She drew several buckets in silence, the manual labor temporarily steadying her nerves. Leo, Prince Leo, merely watched-- a man who had used his holy weapon to bring life to a dying fortress instead of take lives at war, Flora thought, and _oh_. She must still have had her heart after all because it had leapt to her throat.

"That's enough," Leo spoke at last, and his voice still had not lost the gentle tenor of his chant.

The words rang through the dim darkness for a moment before Flora found enough voice to answer, "Yes, milord... would you like me to begin watering?"

"No," answered Leo, having recovered enough to at least correct his posture. "No sooner than dawn... perhaps in an hour or two from now."

"As you wish, milord," and Flora began daubing at her own light perspiration, too careful of the delicate flowers to even attempt using her ice powers.

"In the meantime," and the corners of Leo's lips tilted downwards, his brow working itself into a curious furrow. "Would you answer me a question?"

"Perhaps, milord," she tilted her head, the slightest display of her bemusement. "If I know the answer, then yes."

"The staff of the Northern Fortress, in my experience, rarely make their rounds at this hour," Leo pinned her with a faintly quizzical look, dark eyes searching for answers. "Save for a nightly patrol of guards. For what reason are you still awake?"

Flora gave pause, fully expecting that he would scold her. When she found that he was, indeed, waiting for a verbal reply, she answered lamely, "To... to see the flowers, milord."

"To _mourn_ the flowers, more like," Leo tutted, and Flora desperately reassured herself that the notion he was a mind-reader was _completely_ foolish. The prince sighed, plucked an errant petal from his hair. "It's not the first garden I've seen where nothing wanted to grow. I suppose they're merely fortunate I was here."

"They?" Flora asked, tentative, hesitant. Unspoken, wondered if she herself was included in that 'they.'

Leo gave a sweeping gesture to the courtyard, richly fragrant now, filled with more color than Flora had ever seen during her tenure within the fortress, "The flowers, of course."

"Yes... the flowers," Flora smiled, her eyes crinkling at the edges. With an uncertain voice, she ventured, "Then, milord... you you have much experience with flower-gardens?"

"Some," began Leo cautiously. Something faintly familiar shimmered in his eyes, "I grow a number of plants in the castle gardens, largely for potion-making. Many of them flower... Elise is especially fond of the daffodils and lilies. Camilla, with some regularity, seems to favor roses and orchids. If they please... my sisters... and they are useful, I see no reason why I shouldn't keep them."

Flora, if she detected a genuine affection in his voice, did not comment on it. Instead, she said, "If that is how you attained the knowledge to grow these flowers... then, we are grateful for it."

"We?" Leo questioned dryly, arching a puzzled brow at her.

"Myself," Flora replied, her gaze tremendously soft as she looked upon him. "Myself and the flowers."

"I see," and Leo looked over the sea of snowdrops for a moment more. At last, "You should return to your quarters. I can handle things here."

"Ah... but, milord," Flora frowned, looking upon all the flowers that needed watering, all the buckets of water he would have to carry. "It isn't appropriate for a maid to go to sleep while one of the masters is still awake..."

"I don't plan on sleeping tonight," Leo shook his head. "I have to finish decrypting the last lines of a scroll that are only visible on the night of the full moon. However,  _I_ do not have to be awake first thing in the morning... as opposed to your being scheduled for Kamui's wake-up call, am I correct?"

"Yes, milord," and Flora did not divulge that her heart beat so quickly that she felt it would be impossible for her to sleep, either. Even now, when she blinked, the sight of Leo raising hundreds of flowers from the earth seemed to linger in her vision.

"You are dismissed," Leo shook his head, rolling open a parchment he'd concealed in his robes. "Please at least attempt to get some rest tonight."

And Flora walked back to the servants' quarters with a giddy heart, and something like a seed of hope sown within her bosom. Live, Flora, live-- her mind echoed those words, and she knew that the bleakness of the Northern Fortress had not smothered her spirit yet.

* * *

Well over three moons passed before Flora saw Prince Leo again, after his visit to the Northern Fortress.

She had answered her father's call, for how could she have avoided it? That which her father had gone through the trouble of sending her, as his sole request hidden within the sole gift she'd received? By then, Felicia had already refused to return home with her, chosen to take Kamui's side, and too the Yato's.

Felicia would have formed a much stronger defense against the Nohrians intended to put down their rebellion. Flora knew it, and so too knew that Chief Kilma wished his younger daughter had returned in her place. From a purely pragmatic standpoint, it was a wholly logical wish-- perhaps, with Felicia at the helm of their efforts, the rebellion may have actually lasted more than a few weeks.

It had been a bittersweet blessing, then, that her father had returned her to Lady Kamui's care. Flora was fully aware of what it meant, from a political perspective-- that the Ice Tribe would be cooperating with Nohr, and even going so far as to entrust its heiress to fight in its army. Still, it pained her... Gunter, by then, hadn't been seen for weeks. Jakob, whenever their paths crossed, glared at her with eyes that accused,  _traitor_. And Felicia-- _darling, blessed_ Felicia-- she was still mopping floors and shattering dishes in the Northern Fortress, blissfully housekeeping for the day Lady Kamui returned home.

The Northern Fortress, thought Flora, with its garden brought to life by pure magic. Its carpet of lichens and snowdrops, its violets and roses, its dogwood tree whose petals had fallen upon Lord Leo's outstretched palm like snow. It had gone from the bleakest prison in the world to the place she most desperately longed to be as day after day passed within the army. She had escaped those towering walls and gray-clouded days, but in the end, she had but exchanged her familiar cage for a tightly-collared leash, however benevolent Kamui's hand may have been in holding it.

Wherever they went in Nohr, flowers were few and far between. Flora found herself once more aching for foxgloves that teetered near your shoulder, the fragrance of a narcissus bloom, low-hanging branches of pale petals that framed golden hair like a halo. And, too, the trembling palm that had stretched upwards do bring that world to life.

 _Foolish_ , she scolded herself, _you **foolish** girl_. She shouldn't allow herself to think on him so-- Lord Leo was her liege's brother, and a prince of Nohr besides, and neither maids nor Ice Tribe heiresses could allow their hopes to aspire so high. But her heart beat brilliantly, then, when she thought on snowdrops at his feet and dogwood petals speckling the armor at his shoulders, and the deadly tome in his hands he had used to bring a dead courtyard to _life_ in mere minutes. Her heart beat brilliantly, and she could then remember that her father's disappointment in her fighting had not broken it completely.

Her heart beat so fondly that it nearly stopped when she saw him again.

 _Live, Flora, live,_ she told herself, willing it to begin again in the streets of Cyrkensia. Nestrian soil, her mind unhelpfully supplied, the very land of doomed romantics.

"Kamui, Elise, Camilla, " and Leo's eyes flickered briefly over their party, "Long time no see. I'm pleased you all could join Father and I here in Cyrkensia; you just managed to catch us on the last day of negotiations. Of course, that means you've made it just in time for the customary Opera Show to celebrate another success."

"I'm so happy to see you!" Kamui beamed, throwing themselves towards Leo for a hug. "Have you finished father's mission already?"

"Nearly," Leo shook his head wryly. He tisked, "The Nestrians... their customs haven't changed, I'm afraid. I'm still in the middle of doing works of goodwill to show our peaceful intentions. I haven't even started shopping, nor have I managed to finish eating  _les miettes_ _diplomatique_... urgh. You've also come just in time to save us from committing a severe social faux pas."

"You mean," Elise pouted, "To save you from having fun! Eating the diplomatic snacks is like, the best part about visiting Nestra!"

"And," Camilla smiled slyly, "The diplomatic shopping spree. How much are we expected to spend this time?"

"It's a redundant tradition, given that the intent of the trip is purely business to begin with," Leo sighed in return. "Ridiculous, and foolishly romantic, but the Archduchess would be very insulted if _someone_ didn't complete them. The approximated value of _les miettes diplomatique_ was about 600 gold. May I trust that you are capable of matching that?"

"Six... hundred?" Kamui gaped. "But... but Leo, we're at war! That could buy a whole new weapon or a stave, and--"

"We'll match it," Camilla nodded, gently patting Kamui's shoulder. "The usual stores, Father's tab?"

"Thank you," Leo nodded with a note of finality. His eyes, much to Flora's horror, seemed to rest upon her, "I see there are some... new additions to your group."

"Some of whom played for the _other side_ mere weeks ago, milord Leo," Niles purred in soft warning, narrowing his eye as if he would put an arrow through any of them who dared to step out of line. "Some caution... or some _intimate observation_ may be advised."

"I have prophesied in the bleakest night, with crystals of beseeching clarity... one among our number might possibly, potentially turn upon us at a critical moment," Odin gesticulated, slinging an arm over Leo's shoulder, waving his hand about as if he were painting the picture in Leo's sight. "Or... require an urn upon our most critical moment. The, uh, scrying spell wasn't particularly cooperative..."

"Kamui?" and Leo's eyes flickered back to his sibling. "Do you have anything to say?"

"Flora," Kamui insisted, refusing to be anything but blunt and direct. "Is totally and completely trustworthy! You can... talk to her or whatever it is you do? But you can see it for yourself. Really!"

"Strange how you mention a specific person among your number, but," Leo sighed, shook his head. He directed his next look to Flora herself, "If you would be agreeable to it, I should like to discuss your motives with you. If only to set my retainers' worries at ease."

"Of... of course, milord," and Flora felt slightly faint. She subtly summoned a brisk breeze to cool the blush from her face, "I think... perhaps it is the least I can do to prove my loyalty to Lady Kamui."

"Perhaps," Leo pursed his lips around the word. "Perhaps it is. Very well. I'll take my leave of you here, then. Odin, Niles... your mission is to ensure my sisters arrive at the opera house promptly, eight o'clock tonight."

"B-but Lord Leo," Odin looked aghast, "We can't leave you! The stars have preordained--"

"What Odin means to say," and Niles' eye fell upon Flora again. "Is that he's rarely wrong when it comes to your safety."

"I can handle myself. You're both dismissed," Leo sighed, wholly exasperated with them. He turned on his heel, then, boots clacking against the paved walkway. To Flora, "If you would follow me?"

"Yes, milord!" and Flora hastened her steps after him, her own much softer heels echoing after his.

(And so, too, did her heart quicken to match the pace, and she told herself to remain calm, to remain still. This was an interrogation, she reminded herself, even as her eyes clung to a hand bearing a holy weapon. It was a hand that had used that selfsame tome to wage war, a hand that would not hesitate to cut her down where she stood, but when she looked at it, all she could picture were flowers, white, rising at its command.)

They walked, then, in the city of Cyrkensia, silent for a moment. It was, somehow... a much darker city than Flora had imagined it. Tall buildings in dark stone, carved ancient temples in obsidian, in granite. But the air, it was crisp and clean, and it smelled faintly of the sea, just as it had in the books she'd read. And Prince Leo, he looked more at home in this dark city mid-afternoon than he ever had in the gray-clouded fortresses of Nohr, still yet capable of blending in among the eclectic crowd.

It was with a dangerous familiarity he wore the airs of this city, Flora thought. Like this, she could almost pretend he was a mercenary, seeking his next job here, or a bookkeep for one of the more successful shipping businesses. If she but allowed her imagination to wander, he could be almost attainable, almost a man she could permit herself to love.

Almost.

"You deserted your station at the Northern Fortress," Leo began, forming each word slowly. He gave her a peculiar look, "And... returned to the Ice Tribe, where you assisted them in attacking Kamui."

"I cannot," Flora began, a quiet sigh heaving in her chest. "I cannot deny that I did both of those."

Leo turned his head to the side, pressing his lips together for a moment of thought. He at last spoke: "Why?"

"Because, milord, they are true," and Flora willed her hurt expression into a facsimile of unaffected sangfroid. "And because... I did them out of duty. If... if nothing else, I will be unashamed of having completed my duty to my father and my people."

"Your... duty," Leo echoed slowly, offering her a quizzical look. "With the bulk of our troops pressing the Hoshidan border, I can see why you may have thought rebellion was feasible. However... our standing army is nearly ten times as large as the entire population of the ice tribe. It... was a mere stroke of _fortune_ that father sent the forces beneath Kamui's command to negotiate. I am... I am certain you saw what happened in Cheve."

"You know, then?" Flora closed her eyes, tried to block out the imagery called to the forefront of her memory.

Cheve, one of the few cities they'd seen with real flowers, real plantlife. Cheve, with the leader of its own rebellion, a woman who wore a vibrant white bloom pinned to her armor. Cheve, with its people already subdued, still yet brought to the execution block to pay for their crimes. Cheve, and its streets painted red, dishonorably spilled blood staining the cobbled roads irreversibly.

Cheve, thought Flora with a shudder, the city she had helped Kamui bring to kneel. The massacre she had, with her own hands, facilitated.

"Hans was... _very eager_ to report back," Leo answered, sighed. He was silent for a moment, the breeze off of Cyrkensia's port ruffling his hair. Then, "It _had been_ my hope that, with Kamui's tendency to incapacitate instead of kill, we would be able to fight a near-bloodless war. But the matter stands that my King Father still yet believes traitors to the crown must be killed to serve as an example to all others. Had it been Hans, or Iago, or Zola sent to your tribe in Kamui's stead..."

And then, with something awful budding in her chest, Flora realized that her home _could have been_ Cheve. Her eyes, wide, as if she could see the scene before her now. The village, and all its snowdrops in spring's full bloom. The village, with its cool-headed leader who still yet named his heiress after the sight of those selfsame flowers. The village, with the blood of its massacred people staining snow that would someday be buried, someday melt away, someday leave no evidence that they had ever lived. The tribe destroyed because of her failure to adequately defend, a destruction that not even her own hands could prevent.

She opened her mouth, horrified, but no words emerged.

"I see you... understand," Leo exhaled, soft, that same incanting tenor he'd used moons ago in the Northern Fortress. His expression was grim, voice dropping to a whisper, "Your motives... I do not care what they are. Hans' new battalion of elite executioners is merely looking for an excuse to exercise its new-given strength. It is _essential_ to the tribe's safety and yours that nobody makes any sudden movements, lest... lest _Cheve_ happen again."

"Why," Flora's voice croaked out, shutting her eyes to end the vision. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," answered Leo, taking a breath. And slowly, quietly enough that it nearly melded into the echoes of the city, "Because the Ice Tribe is a tertiary territory of Nohr, and it's my responsibility to protect _all_ of our citizens. Because I disagree with the strategy, and I know this rule based on sheer terror will only incite further riots. Because... you can send them a message, send instructions. Prevent this."

"Why," Flora corrected, carefully choosing each word. "Why are you telling _me_ this?"

"Why?" Leo paused, that one question freezing him in his tracks. He turned to face the sea, the broadest expanse of horizon anyone who'd lived in Nohr could imagine, "I'm. I'm not entirely certain why. Perhaps because my hands are bound by my own duties. Perhaps because, for reasons unknown, I believe you are honest about holding to yours. Perhaps it's... _foolish_ of me. But, I suppose, they do say that the foolish do someday find their way to Nestra."

"The foolish," Flora recalled, reciting the lines of a book from a fortress that seemed near-forgotten now, "The foolish do someday find their way to Nestra, but there, too, do they find the echoes of their hearts."

Leo pursed his lips, looking like he very badly wished to say something in reply. Instead, he took a turn down the foot of a boulevard, stood at the strip of browned grass down its center, "This is our destination."

"I... I see, milord," and Flora exhaled slowly, uncertain of whether he'd intended the finality in that statement. Desperately, wondering if she had not caused some sort of offense, "Have I answered your questions adequately?"

"I think this... questioning is complete," Leo nodded, slow, analyzing, as if he were trying to place if he had seen her before this moment. He spoke, "But I would not yet advise you to leave. For someone... unfamiliar with the organization of Nestrian roads, it's only too easy to get lost."

"Of course, milord," and she watched him, eyes wide, as he took a deep breath and opened the Brynhildr there in the streets of Cyrkensia.

" _Vivahlos, vivahlos tahkay igni,_ " he began, swirling his fingers over the book, and Flora had to remind herself to breathe when he chanted, " _Vivahlos, vivahlos flora._ "

Live, Flora, live. Her heart pulsed wildly, eyes widening. Surely he could not mean...?

" _Vivahlos, vivahlos tahkay igni, vivahlos, vivahlos flora,_ " his voice, ebbing into that same tenorous rhythm. His arm, sweeping over the dried grass, " _Vivahlos, vivahlos tahkay igni, vivahlos, vivahlos..._ "

And Flora's heart lit up, and beneath the glow of Leo's magic, she found herself falling all over again. Reds, bright reds spilled out over the grass, but not the reds of blood-- scarlet poppies, round-faced and freckled with black, and deep, crimson tea roses that meshed therein. And then, chrysanthemums in the colors of the dawn, and fanciful hollyhocks, and narcissi, and the sun-scorched grass seemed to fade into nothingness with this new outburst of life.

The very land itself seemed to worship as Leo walked across its surface, calling up tulips, goldenrods in his wake. _Vivahlos, vivahlos tahkay igni, vivahlos, vivahlos flora._ And they lived, and Flora felt like never again would there be the dishonorable blood that marred the streets of Cheve if Leo, bearing a book that had been forged for war, could color the roads of every land in this manner instead.

Something like a seed of hope took root in her bosom, something that had been sown months ago, in a bleak fortress. It took root and she drank up the sight of Leo, how he called life to his command, used it to water that tiny root of wonder. Her best attempts to nip her burgeoning affection in the bud had failed, and failed _spectacularly, beautifully_.

" _Vivahlos, vivahlos tahkay igni, vivahlos, vivahlos flora,_ " his voice seemed to come from an entity larger than himself, and then the youngest prince of Nohr _knelt_. He knelt in the pose of a mere servant, scrubbing the floors on hands and knees, began threading his fingers through the grass, bringing it back to a full, healthy dark green with but a " _Vivahlos, vivahlos tahkay igni..._ "

 _Live, Flora, live_ , he sang, in a mages' tongue foreign to her yet wholly understood. It was this odd show of humility which grasped her heart this time, and she felt strange to be standing while the Prince of Nohr sat in the grass upon his knees, slowly reviving it from its dry, oversunned state. A servant, she thought, though such a thought was surely treasonous. A servant of the force of life itself, lifting it from the earth.

But the incantations, too, faded into silence, the only sound upon the street Leo's heavy breathing. He stood at last, looking perhaps a bit winded but altogether none the worse for wear. Addressed Flora-- curtly, cordially polite, "I have still yet two more to complete after this."

"Lord Leo... do you wish to take a brief rest before proceeding?" Flora looked upon him in concern, offering up one of the half-dozen kerchiefs she carried in her pocket.

"Perhaps it would be wise to recollect myself for a moment," Leo waved away the kerchief, considered the fine mist on his brow scarcely worth dirtying a napkin yet. "It is somewhat... less difficult to persuade flowers to grow, here in Nestra. But the spell, too, was more complex than the one I used at the Northern Fortress..."

"More... complex, milord?" Flora queried, and, subtly, sent a cooling breeze towards his face when she placed the kerchief back in her skirts.

"There are no spells to protect plants merely from being dried out by the sun... Nohr has never had enough sun to make such a spell necessary," and Leo, unaware of its source, tilted his cheek in the direction of a particularly cooling breeze, his expression otherwise perfectly collected. "The most similar spell... was the spell to make them immune to heat altogether."

"Like the sun," Flora smiled, the corners of her eyes subtly crinkling.

"The sun, yes. And steam, and volcanic ash," Leo shook his head, glanced off in the distance. Dry, acutely aware of the possibility in these times of war, "And immune to fire itself. The whole city could go down in flames, and these flowers would survive still."

"They're... they're beautiful, milord," Flora breathed, gently leaning over to inhale the scent of a hollyhock. "Flowers that shall never burn."

"I never quite managed to keep those in the castle gardens," and, try as he might, Leo was incapable of preventing a twinge of bitterness from coloring his tone. "Even with all the power of the Brynhildr, they would only last for a day or two."

"If you don't mind my asking, milord," Flora cupped one of the delicate blooms in her palm, marveled at how vividly it stood out against the pale of her skin, "What destroyed them?"

"The same that destroys the crops of villagers and common people all across Nohr," Leo sighed, giving the road-garden a last mournful glance before he directed his gaze towards the sky, an almost-prayer. "Not enough sun, exhausted soil, swamp toxins seeping into the water... it seems, at times, like the very land itself is trying to kill them."

Flora did not ask him whether he meant the flowers or the villagers, but loved, loved quietly, that they were one and the same in his heart.

"Then... the other spell?" Flora's eyes flickered from the flower in her hand up to Leo's face. She let her fingers slide away from the petals.

" _Vivahlos, vivahlos meno non luxi,_ " Leo listed, each subsequent word seeming to cause him more pain. " _Meno non terre. Meno non acuo._ To live without light, without soil, without water. Frequent problems in Nohr's countryside... but that is the purpose of trade agreements like these with the Nestrians. The selfsame purpose of conquering Hoshido, a land where sunlight and clean water are as plentiful as the air itself. Where crops survive long enough to bear fruit, even without a spell's command."

"Lord Leo... is that what we hope to accomplish with this war?" Flora's heart ached, then, for a man who made his people's suffering his own. "To merely obtain resources to _feed_ the citizens of Nohr?"

"That is... that is, indeed, the hope," and Leo set his eyes back upon the street, the facade of his pride reconstructed, carefully placed. "If we may permit ourselves to have one."

"Cyrkensia is a town of romantics, they say," Flora whispered back. "Perhaps, milord, we _should_ permit ourselves to hope."

But Leo did not hear her, did not answer in reply. He had already started down the road to his next destination, studying carefully a road sign. Paused. As if he had only just realized she hadn't followed him, he beckoned with a twitch of his head, the slightest, subtlest of indications that he did not wish to misplace her here.

 _Live, Flora, live_ , she reminded herself. And though her echoes had gone unheard, she, too, allowed hope to live.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

The conquering army came home to a city ablaze.

There could be no other word for it, that while their royalty had been away waging a foreign war, the best among their city militia drafted into claiming Hoshidan territory, the dissent that had characterized only border territories before spread, as if a panicked wildfire, to the heart of Nohr.

Rioters in the streets who thought they could come away without punishment yet still broke into the homes of nobles, nobles who had long ago abandoned the court season when their royals had all departed. Honest commoners hid in the Nohrian underground, locked their doors at night, took refuge still deeper within the earth in cellars, in basements.

Citizens dissatisfied with Garon's rule-- no, afraid, frightened by the widespread slaughter in Cheve, the rumors that he would slay even his own people to maintain control-- those citizens took torches to Castle Krakenburg, to the noble quarters. Raided its empty halls, when the guards had been blinded by the smoke and the majority of servants had fled in terror. Set afire that in which they could see no value, the castle still yet faintly smoldering in its wake.

Smoke rose from scorched towers, yet still leaking from its battlements.

"Lord Xander," their head of guard knelt before the new king, still yet to dismount from his steed. "I am sorry, milord... we were only just able to evacuate before the castle grounds began to burn. We lost many artifacts of Nohrian history... they'll have been sold many times over on the black market by now. I take full responsibility for the failure, milord, if you must punish someone let it be me."

Xander, his heart heavy as he looked upon the home of his childhood, its walls scorched, "And of the staff, and the rest of the guards? What happened to them?"

"We suffered no major casualties, Your Highness," the guard reported, looking momentarily troubled. "We had some difficulty getting into the servant's quarters. Some of them are still unwell from smoke inhalation, but they are alive... thank the gods. A few of our guards are being treated for burns, but the injuries should recover fully."

"Then you have done your job, and Nohr owes you its thanks," Xander nodded, solemn. "My lord father... regrettably perished in the siege of Castle Shirasagi. My reign, I believe, will be... different from his in many, many ways. Please, see to your men. The Nohrian army will organize an hourly patrol in each of the city's quarters."

The sheer wonder and admiration that crossed the guard's face was a sight to behold. It was a new era for Nohr, indeed.

But Leo, when he escorted home the fully-recovered members of the serving staff to begin cleaning away the debris, his heart broke twice to look upon the castle in this state. First, at the sight of these walls marred with flames, tapestries melded into char, his most beloved library-- a thousand years of collective Nohrian lore-- half-raided for its value and half-burned out of spite. And, then, broken a second time at the idea that the very people he had fought to rescue would turn upon him, upon the whole of their nobility, out of fear of his father. That his father had _become_ fearsome enough that the citizens of Nohr had attempted to throw off his reign.

Something even sicker swirled in Leo's own gut when he realized: his father had become fearsome enough that he and his siblings had _succeeded_ in throwing off his rule.

He stood there, then, at the doorway to the castle courtyard, gazed at the ruined ash of the empty land. Someone had stolen the marble enameling on the fountainwell where he used to draw water; someone had smashed the stone bench Elise liked to picnic on; someone had set Camilla's favorite rosebush aflame so that, even when Leo bent and dug with his hands, he could see no roots but only ash. And the castle, the very symbol of his father's reign, had destroyed the people of Nohr. And the people of Nohr had destroyed the castle back.

He would not despair. He would not despair. Hoping, perhaps absurdly, that this was still fixable somehow, that there was _something_ that had survived the war, Leo flipped open the pages of the Brynhildr, " _Vivahlos vivahlos, igni non mordo, vivahlos, vivahlos flora..._ "

But however he cast, however many times he chanted, nothing would rise-- like his people, his garden too had abandoned the command of the Nohrian royals, and Leo dug his fingers into the ashes and willed himself not to cry.

A moment, or perhaps twenty-- and, softly, the sound of heels clicking on the paved pathway, so quiet that Leo nearly mistook them for mere echoes.

"My apologies for disturbing you, Lord Leo," voiced the maid, gentle as a whisper. His brain helpfully connected her face to a name-- Flora, the maid from the Northern Fortress who had drawn water for him once. Now, she held out a single book: singed at the edges, pages beginning to curl from the heat, but legible, intact. "You... you mentioned that we should notify you if we found anything that could still be used."

"Was this," Leo began, steadying his gaze in the dirt so that his voice would not tremble. "Was this the only part of the library you could salvage?"

Flora nodded, and Leo went completely silent.

Speak, Flora willed him, pleading with her mind. Anything would be better than this injured silence, she thought, and oh, how her heart broke for this man who mourned his flowers just as surely as he mourned his people. She wished, desperately, that she had a spell of her own that could fix things, wished she could think of something to say. But she could find no words of consolation for him, her accursed tongue refusing to form speech.

"Flora..." and Leo's eyes flickered away from the handful of dust that his flowers had become. As if the very idea had only just occurred to him, "Or, I suppose, Chief Heiress Flora is more accurate."

"Flora," the woman began, her eyes reflecting the melancholy of Leo's own. "Just Flora is fine, milord. Did you require something of me?"

Leo stood, glanced at the dust he held once more. With a twitch of his wrist, the ashy remnants of his narcissus blooms blew away in the northern wind, "I find I tire of daffodils and narcissi... what, do you suppose, is the likelihood that your tribe would be willing to trade me a few dozen snowdrop bulbs before the next planting season?"

"Before the next planting season?" Flora echoed, her eyes widening with a hopeful surprise. Then, she smiled, eyes crinkling softly at the edges. "I believe we can manage that, milord."

"I would... appreciate that," and Leo managed a weak nod back, accepted the book she extended to him. Flipped through its heat-curled pages, marveled that hope could bud anew.

Perhaps it was a sign, Leo thought, that the only book which had survived bore the story of two romantics who had hoped until the very end, the selfsame romantics that filled the streets of Cyrkensia. Perhaps, he thought, it would be all right to allow himself the foolish hope that the fiasco of the Hoshidan War would end without further loss.

"Do you wish for me to return to work, milord?" Flora gazed at him, concerned, adoring.

"Let us... _both_ return to work," and Leo allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards. "I doubt the castle is capable of restoring itself."

He began to step back into the sooty halls of Castle Krakenburg, then, and this time he listened for the echo of clicking heels that followed his own.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Vivahlos, vivahlos meno non luzi, vivahlos, vivahlos flora_ : from the same spell tongue used briefly in [Mercutio, Mercutio](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6973084), inspired by the Grimmerie spells in _Wicked_.
> 
> Title in part from _narcissus poetica,_ scientific name of the flower in the Narcissus legend.


End file.
